


the irritable heart

by cyranothe2nd



Series: irritable heart verse [2]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Developing Relationship, Episode Fix-it, Episode: s01e03 The Naked Now, F/M, Negotiations, Panic, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Season/Series 01, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-05-15 04:40:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19288333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyranothe2nd/pseuds/cyranothe2nd
Summary: Tasha knows Troi can sense that something is wrong. She also knows she isn’t going to able to avoid talking about it, but she still shifts in her seat uncomfortably for a moment before blurting out, “I had sex with Data.”





	1. one

    “Computer, activate combat simulation, Aikido randori program, difficulty 10.” 

    There is a flash of light—the computer’s warning to make ready—and two opponents appear, both wearing the black gi belt that indicated Jūdan rank, the same as her own. Tasha drops into a crouch, keeping both attackers in front of her. The one on the left feints but Tasha is ready for it, throwing her weight to her rear foot and turning right just as the second attacker strikes at her face. She uses a simple  _ikkyō_ to bring him down, then falls back, her movements fluid but her mind restless. She’s already played through this simulation twice today and at least once every day since _T_ _he Incident._  

    That’s what she calls it her mind because she doesn’t want to think  _That Time I Had Sex_ _With_ _My_ _Drunk_ _Coworker._ Or, worse, _The Night I Took Advantage of Data._ Tasha’s muscles burn as she moves through the familiar rhythms of  _uki_ and _t_ _ori,_ attack and defense. She defeats the first two opponents quickly, but the set of three the computer sends at her next take a long time to subdue. She finally succeeds and the program ends, the holographic environment fading out to the black and gold she’s used to. Tasha leans against the bulkhead to catch her breath, contemplating running the program again. She’s drenched in sweat and her hands are shaking a bit. She’s overdoing it; she knows she’s going to have to ask Dr. Crusher for another anti-inflammatory hypo if she is to be able to sleep tonight. And she desperately needs to sleep—needs some respite from the turmoil that has been twisting her guts all week.  

    What was it Sensei Omoto used to say?  _Aikido is not just a physical exercise, Natasha, but a spiritual practice of love and peace._  

    She tips her head back, closes her eyes and feels ashamed. What she’s doing isn’t loving and it certainly isn’t peaceful. She knows this. She’s spent years in therapy learning how to love herself; how to care for herself beyond the basic necessities of food, water, shelter and safety; how to deal with the psychological trauma she endured as a child. She’s well aware that hiding out in a rec room for three hours each evening is a classic avoidant behavioral coping mechanism. Knows too that cancelling her weekly session with Counselor Troi this morning was maladaptive and probably against Starfleet protocol because her mental state is going to affect her work, if it hasn’t already. 

    She knows all of this, but still she doesn’t want to go back to her quarters.  

    She’d replicated new bedding the day after the Incident -- bright yellow to replace the cream and white of before -- and gotten rid of the horrible blue outfit she’d been wearing that night.  But she couldn’t get rid of her bed, or her couch. Or the collection of woodblock prints that hung in her bedroom, which Data had commented on before he’d--. 

    Tasha slits her eyes back open, realizing with a start that she’s been slumped against the wall for quite some time. She runs a hand through her cropped hair and levers herself upright, making her way to the shower units in the main recreation facility. She’s been working Alpha shift, mostly to avoid spending her shift on the bridge with Data, and it’s dinner time so the facility is practically deserted. She nods to Ensigns Kyri and T’Lara practicing ballet at the barre as she passes and makes her way into the showers, stripping off her athletic gear and stuffing it into the laundry chute. She opts for a water shower—one of the perks of being a senior officer—and lets the hot water sooth her abused muscles. She has a vivid recollection of the feel of Data’s cool fingers stroking feather-light down her back and banishes the image with a huff of annoyance. She turns off the water and activates the drying unit with a little more force than necessary, the heated air buffets her body. She would usually dry herself by hand; the drying unit always makes her hair look like a bird's nest, but her muscles are already beginning to stiffen. She steps out of the unit, dresses in a replicated gi, and opts to walk the long way back to her quarters, stopping by sickbay and getting an earful from Nurse Ogawa about needed an anti-inflammatory three times in one week. 

    She’s dragging her feet and she knows it. With a sigh, Tasha redirects her steps and rings a familiar door chime. She enters as directed. 

    “Tasha, I didn’t expect to see you this week,” Deanna says with a smile. 

    “I know, I’m sorry it’s so late but I was hoping you’d have time to talk.” 

    “Of course,” the Counselor says easily and directs her to a seat. Troi settles across from her, tucking her long skirt around her legs and then folding her hands in her lap. Tasha knows Troi can sense that something is wrong. She also knows she isn’t going to able to avoid talking about it, but she still shifts in her seat uncomfortably for a moment before blurting out, “I had sex with Data.” 

    Troi’s eyes widen but she says nothing. 

    “Last week. When I was infected with the Polywater contagion. After I dug through your closet and after I kissed Crewman Cater.” 

    “I heard that you kissed him! You might want to send an apology to his partner. You don’t want to deal with a jealous Horta.”  

    Tasha laughs. There was nothing like a starship for gossip. “I’ve talked to H’grth; it forgave me,” she assures Troi. “It does help that H’grth was feeling pretty embarrassed about eating its way through an access panel while under the influence of the contagion.” 

    Deanna looks delighted at that. “I heard about that, too,” she admits.   

    “But not about Data and me?” 

    “Not a word,” Deanna says.  

    “Well, that’s a relief. I told him not to tell anyone but you never know who sees what. Anyway, Data came to take me to Sickbay and…” She waves her hand and Deanna chimes in.  

    “You and he had sex.” 

    “Twice.” 

    Troi blinks. “And, how do you feel about that?” 

    “I don’t know,” Tasha shoots back. This is her standard answer when asked about her feelings. Tasha trusts Troi, likes her professionalism and warmth. Likes the way she doesn’t make Tasha feel silly or small for needing help. Her chemical implant makes up for the serotonin deficit in her brain and mostly wards off her panic attacks, but it is Troi’s guidance that has helped her deal with the stress of serving on a Galaxy-class starship. Troi knows when to be quiet and wait, and she does so now, forcing Tasha to consider and answer the question honestly. “Upset. I’ve been spending a lot of time in the combat simulator.” 

    “Upset that people might know?” 

    “A little,” Tasha admits. “But mostly embarrassed and ashamed of myself.” 

    Troi nods. “Was that why you cancelled our appointment this morning?” 

    Yar shrugs. “I just didn’t want to talk about it.” 

     “Why not? Was it a bad experience?” 

    Tasha wants to answer in the affirmative, but hesitates, tries to separate how she felt that night from the guilt she feels now. “No. It was—nice.” 

    She hesitates again, and Troi prompts, “Nice?” 

    Yar purses her lips, fighting back tears. She hates crying in front of other people.  “Better than nice. The best I’ve ever felt with anyone.” The tears spill over her cheeks and Tasha laughs bitterly. “Blitzed out of my mind and using a coworker for sex. The highlight of my love life!” 

    Deanna leans forward, places her hand very deliberately on Tasha’s wrist and squeezes. It had taken Tasha a while to be okay with being touched in general, and longer to allow someone to touch her sexually. Given her history on Turkana IV, it is a miracle that she can have sex at all. Even still, she has always been guarded with lovers, unable to really let down her walls and be in the moment. But that night with Data, everything had been different. For the first time, she had been completely uninhibited. If she’s honest with herself, it hadn’t just been because of how the Polywater had made her feel, although that had certainly been part of it. The infection had boosted her confidence and quieted down the anxiety that reared up to taint most of her sexual encounters. But it had also been how Data had behaved—so undemanding and respectful. The easy way he took direction, completely unaffected by ego or insecurity. The way he had taken her request for gentleness seriously, touching her lightly, allowing her to lead. The way he’d asked to kiss her, to touch her, to fuck her. It had all been so very different from her experiences before that. 

     “Does Data feel that you used him?” Deanna asks gently.  

    “It doesn’t matter. He was infected. I’m Security chief.” 

    Deanna squeezes her wrist once more and releases her, sitting back in her overstuffed chair. “You aren’t his superior officer. You aren’t even in the same department. There’s no regulation that prevents you from fraternizing with him.” 

    “He was infected!” Tasha repeats, swiping at her eyes in irritation. 

    “So were you,” Deanna points out. 

    “That’s different.” 

    “Is it? How so?” 

    “Data is innocent. I tainted that.” As soon as she says it, Yar realizes how it sounds and she can see that Deanna does, too. 

    “Tasha, you are not tainted by what happened to you when you were a child. It doesn’t make you dirty. Those things were not your fault.” 

    “I know that!” She snaps back. And she  _does,_  she does know that; she’s been hearing it from one therapist or another for ten years. She even believes it most of the time. “But what does it say about me that I am so messed up by it that I want to fuck an android?” 

    Tasha knows that that is a horrible, bigoted thing to say and, as usual, Troi ignores Tasha’s deflection and cuts to the heart of the matter. “What does it say about you that you want to fuck a man who you describe as innocent, and sweet, and the best you’ve ever had?” 

    Tasha stares at her, eyes burning, and then lets out a shaky laugh. “Well, when you say it like that, it sounds pretty stupid.”  

    Troi has the good grace not to agree. “Tell me, Tasha. What  _does_ it say about you?” 

    Tasha purses her lips, but begrudgingly answers, “That I’m human. That it’s okay to want sweetness and innocence in my life. And I do—of course, I do. But I still feel like I’ve done something wrong.” 

    “You should talk to him,” Deanna says and stands, moving towards the door. “See what he says. Then you can decide what you ought to do.” 

    Tasha rises and follows her. “Is that my homework for the week?”  

    Deanna’s dark eyes dance merrily. “It is. I expect a full report at our next session.” 

    “Yes ma’am,” Tasha salutes jauntily.  

 

* * *

 

 

    It is two days before she and Data talk, and it is him who seeks her out. The night shift has just ended, and Data catches her in the turbolift. There is an awkward moment of silence and then Data turns towards her and pauses with his head tilted to the side, as if studying her. 

    “Lieutenant, there is a personal matter I wish to discuss with you if I may have a few moments of your time,” he finally says. 

    Tasha’s eyes dart to him and away, cheeks darkening. “Is this about the Incident?” 

    “If by ‘the Incident’ you refer to the events of ten days ago in which we engaged in intercourse and which you subsequently insisted did not happen, then yes.” 

    She can feel herself flushing even further, but she straps some steel to her spine and says, “Yes, that is what I mean. All right, we can talk about it, but in private.” 

    “Very well,” Data says. “Will you please accompany me to my quarters?” 

    Tasha can’t see any reason to refuse, and frankly she’s more than a little curious about what his quarters look like. Does Data collect things, like she does? Are his quarters cluttered, or bare? What does he even do when he’s out of uniform? She never sees him in the rec center, or at the parisses squares games. She knows he plays the oboe and sometimes performs with Commander Riker’s jazz band in Ten Forward, but Tasha realizes that she doesn’t know what else he does with his time. It disquiets her that she’s slept with him and has no idea what he’s like outside of work.  

    “Data, do you have any hobbies?” she asks him suddenly. 

    “I have multiple hobbies and I also perform activities that are similar to the human concept of relaxation.” 

    The turbolift glides to a halt and Data motions her out of the lift ahead of him. “Like what?” she asks when they are side by side again. “What do you do to relax?” 

    This is where a human man might make some wisecrack about or allusion to the Incident, but Data does not. “Please come in,” he says instead and ushers her into his quarters.  

    Data’s quarters are neat as a pin, which she expected. But they aren’t barren or spare. Indeed, his quarters are a bit cluttered. In addition to painting hanging on the walls, there are a lovely set of glass vases on a shelf and a live plant in the corner. As her eyes travel over the living space, an annoyed meow draws Tasha’s attention to the dining table, standard issue and tucked into the wall to the left of the door. An adult Abyssinian cat sits on the tabletop, tail twitching as it surveys Tasha.  

    “You have a cat?” Tasha asks delightedly. “Oh, it’s beautiful! I love cats. I had one of my own as a girl.” She feels a stab of pain at the memory but ignores it, instead walking over to the table. The cat jumps down and approaches her stiff-legged. Tasha kneels and holds out her hand, palm down. The cat sniffs her hand haughtily but allows her to stroke its head. As she pets the cat, Tasha watches Data make his way over the replicator and call up a dish of cat food. He sets it on the floor and the cat abandons Tasha, who stands from her crouch and faces Data rather awkwardly. 

    “To answer your question,” Data says, “Caring for Spot is one of activities which I perform to stimulate relaxation. Would you like to sit down?” 

    “Oh, yes.” She sits on the couch, looking around. Data doesn’t have a bedroom, she realizes. Probably not a bathroom, either. Instead, the rear half of his quarters has been converted into a sort of workspace, complete with a computer terminal and paint supplies. 

    “You paint?” 

    “Yes,” Data says. “I am capable of reproducing many styles in both oil and acrylic. Lieutenant--” 

    “Tasha,” Yar interrupts. “If we are going to talk about this, at least call me Tasha.” 

    “Very well, Tasha.” Data is sitting on the other side of the couch and yet Tasha is physically aware of him as he turns towards her and says, “I have noticed that you have switched duty shifts with Junior Lieutenant Armstrong three times since our sexual encounter ten days ago. Prior to this, as well as when you served on the  _Archangel,_ you switched duty shifts an average of 4.24 times per year. Additionally, on Stardate 7631.43 you expressed to Commander Riker your preference for working the third shift, stating that you considered yourself a “night owl.” As I am the only crewman who shared all three shifts with you, and as you have a stated preference for working the third shift, and because you did not seek treatment in Sickbay for any illness, I must conclude that you do not wish to work with me.” 

    Tasha shifts in her seat uncomfortably. She had not realized how obvious she’d been. 

     “Additionally,” Data goes on, “I have noted your disinclination to look at me, this conversation providing an example.” At that Tasha’s eyes slide over to him, taking in the stiff way he sits on the couch with his hands clasping his knees. In a human, it would indicate nervousness or discomfort, but she knows Data does not experience such emotions. “The most logical conclusion derived from this data is that you are avoiding me.” 

    “I-I’m sorry,” she stammers. “It’s not your fault. I’m…embarrassed. I’m sorry.” 

    “Tasha, I do not require an apology. I mean only to inquire about whether there is something I might do to ease your discomfort in my presence.” 

    “Can you erase the hours I was infected with the Polywater?” she says with a little laugh.  

    Data, of course, takes her question at face value. He cants his head and says, “I cannot. However, I am capable of deleting the relevant memory files in my positronic matrix and thereby erase my own recollection of the event. Though I find myself reluctant to do so, I will perform such a deletion should you request it of me.” 

    Tasha stares at him. “You would…” She is moved by the offer. She knows how much knowledge of any kind matters to Data. “Thank you, but no. I couldn’t ask that of you.” 

    He nods. “I confess to experiencing a sense of relief. I did not wish to lose the memory of my only practice of human sexuality.” 

    Tasha’s eyes widen. “You mean--no, you can’t mean that I was your first?” At his affirming nod, she buries her face in her hands, feeling horribly ashamed. “Oh, god, your first time and I took advantage of you. I’m sorry, Data. I’m so sorry.” She reaches out and touches his hand, forgetting for a moment that he does not require the emotional comfort of touch. Nevertheless, she links her fingers into his and squeezes lightly.  

    “I assure you that you did not. My self-defense subroutines were unaffected by the Polywater contagion. If I had wanted to stop you, I would have.” 

    “I know that,” she says, aware of how high her voice sounds. She pulls her hand away from his and sits back to put some distance between them. As if she needs another reminder of his physical strength and how alluring she finds it. No, it isn’t just his strength. She’d seen examples enough of that to last a lifetime back on Turkana IV. It is Data’s refusal to use his strength to do harm that she finds attractive. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know I didn’t literally force you. It’s just…” She takes a deep breath, running her hand through her short hair. Tries to remember that Data is kind but a little clueless, and that he is not trying to make this hard for her. “Two things,” she says. “First, in many human cultures one’s first sexual encounter is considered…special.” 

    “Was yours--” 

    “Please don’t ask me about that,” she interrupts. She has already revealed more to him about her childhood than she feels comfortable with. More than anyone on the ship knows, except the Captain, Doctor Crusher, and Counselor Troi. She definitely doesn’t want to discuss the times she got caught out in the open or had to trade her body for food. She doesn’t want to tell him about the pain she experienced that first time, or how terrified she was. “My point is, if I’d know it was your first time, I would have made it more special for you.” 

    “Tasha, I wish to assert that I am not dissatisfied with the encounter. In fact, the opposite is the case.” 

    “You’re happy about it?” Tasha asks skeptically.  

    “As you know, I am incapable of feeling happiness. However, I am gratified. As well as grateful to you.” 

    “Grateful?” Tasha turns towards him again, hikes one knee up onto the couch and tucks her foot under her other knee so that she can face him fully. “What are you talking about? Data, I…alright, the second thing I was going to say is that I feel like I said things and…and asked you for things that were wrong. No, not  _wrong_ , exactly. Just…unfair.” 

    “Do you speak of the things you requested I do during—” 

    “No,” Tasha interrupted, face flaming. “I mean before that. When I said that I wanted you to love me.” She chuckles uncomfortably.  

    “Ah,” Data says, clearly confused. “You believe that you are guilty of wrongdoing because you asked for an emotion of which I am incapable?” 

    Tasha shakes her head. “No, not that exactly. It’s more that it was too much. More than I should have asked for, given that we weren’t all that close to begin with. That’s not to say that you weren’t generous and I appreciate that, but it was still out of line for me to have asked.” 

    “I see. I am incapable of love, as it is an emotional response to chemical stimuli. Nor can I experience joy,” Tasha is shocked into meeting Data’s strong gaze when he leans forward and takes her hand. “However, I am capable of provoking joy. And I am capable of tenderness.”  _Am. Not was, not past tense._ _Am._ _Like he wants to-_ Tasha cuts the thought off, but finds she cannot look away from his strange, yellow eyes.  _Oh god._ “Did you find my sexual performance lacking?” 

    Data’s fingers lace with hers. Tasha can feel a slow burn unfurling from her center, making her limbs feel heavy and her breath come quicker.  _Oh my god, he notices everything, he’s going to know._ Tasha wants to run away, but she ruthlessly forces the panic down. She’s been avoiding this for ten days, she realizes, but the truth is that she has been attracted to Data for quite some time. It is why she had kissed pale-skinned, dark-haired Crewman Cater. It is why she had come on to Data so strongly when she was under the influence of the contagion. It was why she feels so flustered now, when all he’s doing is touching her hand. 

    She drops his hand and turns away, puts both her feet back on the floor and looks at the art on the walls for a few long seconds as she wrestles herself back under control. “Data?” she says, quite carefully. 

    “Yes, Tasha?” There is no change at all in his voice and she doesn’t think he’s moved at all. 

    “Why did you take my hand just now?”  

    “You took my hand 3.4 minutes ago. Humans often enjoy having non-verbal gestures mirrored and it seemed appropriate to the situation. Have I erred?” 

    “No, you haven’t,” she says. “And it isn’t anything to do with you. I’m uneasy because I don’t know where we stand now.” Tasha laughs weakly, turning to face him again but not quite meeting his eyes. “I think it’s clear that I’m attracted to you, but I don’t know what that means. And I don’t know what you want, either. I’m sorry. I should have asked you, instead of shutting you out.” 

    Data considers. “Thank you for your apology, Tasha, I appreciate your explanation. I am also unsure how to correctly characterize our current relationship. As to my desires, I wish to pursue a romantic relationship with you.”  

    It’s always startling when he does this—just says something outright without equivocating—and Tasha can’t help but respond in kind. “What? Why? I don’t mean to offend you, but I figured it was the Polywater that made you say yes in the first place. I didn’t think you were interested in that sort of thing.” 

    “That is incorrect,” Data says. “I have often been interested in such a relationship, but the interest and the opportunity have not previously coincided.”  

    “Look Data, I’m not-” she stops, sighs and then starts again. “The Command staff was briefed about my psychological condition before I came aboard, right?” 

    “Yes. I am therefore aware of your panic disorder.” 

    “Oh, okay. That’s...good.” Tasha runs a hand through her hair. “The briefing is mostly a technicality. My subdermal regulator usually does a good job of keeping me on the level, and I have methods of dealing with my anxiety if the regulator gets overloaded.  I’ve never had any problems doing my job. It’s...everything else I’m bad at. Friendships. Relationships. Hell, I’ve never been able to keep a relationship going for more than a few months.” Tasha laughs bitterly. She realizes how guarded her body language has gotten and makes the effort to uncross her arms and legs. “My point is...if you’re looking for an experiment or a teacher or something – I'm the wrong person to ask.” 

    “Ah,” Data says. “This is not what I am seeking, though I will confess that you will be better versed in how to conduct a romantic relationship with a human than I, and will therefore be teaching me many things should you agree to such a venture. However, I am aware that such knowledge is not fully transferable and that each being will have specific preferences.” 

    Tasha runs that through her mental translator and then nods. “Right. But I want to make sure you understand – I’m not really like I was when I was infected.” 

    “Did you not just tell me this? That you felt that, during the infection, you asked me for emotions which were, in your view, unfair to request of a new sexual partner.” 

    “Yes. But I mean also that I am not usually so...uninhibited.” She is so embarrassed that she cannot look at him, but she is determined to see this awkward conversation through. Data deserves that much from her. 

    “You professed a distaste for being viewed as an experiment. I feel I must ethically inform you that knowing the difference between your infected and non-infected sexual responses is one reason I wish to engage in a romantic relationship with you.” 

    Tasha is momentarily stunned by that, so much so that she turns towards him again. Data is looking at her intently, as if she is a particularly fascinating puzzle. It shouldn’t turn her on as much as it does. “I - wow, all right. That’s...I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t know why you’d want to - ” She throws her hands up in the air. “Okay, I’ll just say it. Data, because of my panic disorder and my history with relationships, I think I need...more than a regular person would. More...of what I said before. More understanding. More tenderness. Just.... more, I guess.” 

    Tasha feels terribly vulnerable saying it out loud, but knows it’s the only way to get him to understand. He can’t want this. No one does. Every relationship she’s had has fallen apart and she desperately doesn’t want that for Data. She doesn’t want recriminations or hurt feelings or, worse, the guilt she feels when a lover cannot give her what she needs. She knows it’s not her fault – her past, her trauma, her difficulties with sex – but it is still a lot and Tasha doesn’t think she’s really worth it. What she wants to ask is  _Why me?_ But she cannot bring herself to ask it. She’s not sure she wants to know the answer. 

    She looks away again, utterly miserable, and the penny must drop because after a beat Data says, “And you do not believe I can provide these things.” His voice is flat; he doesn’t sound offended, but the words still make Tasha wince because that is not at all what she meant.  

    “Of course, you can. I know you can. I just wanted you to know. I don’t want you to make an uninformed decision, or to regret anything.” 

    Data nods. “Thank you for informing me, Tasha.” 

    She nods back, gives him a small smile. She suddenly feels the need to escape his quarters very badly. She stands and so does he. “I want you to think about it, okay? If you change your mind, I won’t be offended. And thank you, for talking to me about this. I feel a lot better. I’ll stop trying to avoid you.” She gives him another small smile. “Good night, Data.” 

    “Good night, Tasha,” Data says easily. 


	2. two

 

Later that morning, Tasha is kidnapped. The Enterprise is in orbit around Ligon II, in the hopes of procuring the vaccine for a deadly outbreak of Anchilles fever. The first part of the negotiation goes well. The Ligonian leader, Lutan, seems impressed by the ship and by her in particular. When his second in command makes some off the cuff remark about her gender, Tasha, who’d studied the briefing on the Ligonian code of honor closely, shows her mettle by executing a quick maneuver that throws him on his ass. Hagon looks humiliated, but Lutan only chuckles.

“How interesting,” Lutan says. “May we prove as surprising to you.”

It certainly is a surprise when, as the delegation is making its goodbye, Lutan uses the distraction of a handshake to pull her close and the familiar sensation of a transporter beam tugs her down to the surface of the planet.

“What is this?” she cries, pulling her hand from Lutan’s irritated. “Take me back to my ship!”

“I am afraid I cannot do that, Lieutenant,” he tells her and gives orders to Hagon to show her to a guest room. Despite their earlier altercation, Hagon is polite about it, ushering her into a suptuous suite of rooms and locking the door. Tasha isn’t afraid; she isn’t threatened or treated badly, so she figures that snatching her and beaming down to the planet might just be some Lingonian custom, an impression that is verified by Yareena, Lutan’s first wife and queen.

“Do not fear, Lieutenant Yar. You are an honored guest and every hospitality will be afforded you.”

“Then do me the honor of taking me back to my ship,” Tasha rejoins hotly.

The woman shakes her head. “Impossible,” she raises a hand to stave off Tasha’s objection. “For now. Your captain must humble himself and ask for your return. Then, honor will be satisfied.”

Tasha believes her—there are many cultures that have similar practices--but still she doesn’t want to make it easy on them. She takes her abduction with her usual orneriness, refusing to comply with the queen’s demands that she change clothes and eat. Instead, she escapes her room, beats up a dozen or so guards, and almost makes it to the transporters before she’s caught. Yareena seems amused by her stubbornness but it is the admiring, avaricious look in Lutan’s eyes that disturbs Tasha. She is certain that there is more to this than a simple cultural practice.

“Lieutenant are you all right?” the Captain asks when an away team are finally allowed to beam down to the palace.

“I’m fine, Captain, but they’re showing some signs of wear,” she says, snatching her arm from the grip of one of her guards. Captain Picard looks amused. He and Troi are the only members of the away team, something that Yar would have strenuously objected to if she’d been on the ship. She can see the sense of it, though. From a cultural standpoint, it is a greater honor for the Captain to appear and ask for her return himself. To his credit, Picard stows his ego and makes the request. Lutan assures the Captain that she will be released that evening at a banquet given in their honor.  

“There really seems to be little to do but wait,” the Captain tells her. Tasha returns to her suite of rooms, gorgeously appointed in rich yellows and purples. Tasha reclines on the large bed and stares up at the ceiling. She knows she should get some rest before the banquet, but she cannot quiet her thoughts. It’s easy to set aside her self-recrimination over being kidnapped; she knows that as Security Chief, she is a target. Besides, everyone knows that any ship called _Enterprise_ is a magnet for trouble. What she finds harder to ignore is the disaster of a conversation she’d had with Data that morning. She had expected it to be mortifying – lately, all her conversations with Data seem designed to cause her maximum embarrassment —but what she had not expected was for him to _ask her out._ She’d had had no idea how to react to that. So, she’d ended up once again revealing things she had not meant to. Shit, she’d tried to talk him out of it, telling him about her infrequent panic attacks and her much-more-frequent failed relationships.

She knows he doesn’t feel that she’d taken advantage of him; he’d said he was ‘gratified’ which—while not exactly flattering—makes Yar think that they can go back to working together without her feeling guilty every time she looks at him. Tasha knows that Data will not behave badly if she turns him down. Data has no ego to bruise. They could simply go back to being colleagues and acquaintances. Tasha is an adult and can behave professionally, her own avoidance of Data over the past few days notwithstanding.  

_Why didn’t I just say no?_

Sure, she is attracted to Data. But being attracted to someone doesn’t mean she has to date them. So _why didn’t I just say no?_

More disturbingly, there is a small part of her that doesn’t want to say no.

Tasha shakes her head, repositions the pillow under her head and resolutely closes her eyes. Data is … well, she can’t call him childlike anymore, not after experiencing firsthand how knowledgeable he is in some pretty adult subjects, but he’s…different. Open and trusting, a bit naïve, and voraciously curious. There’s a core of strength in him that Tasha ardently admires; his utter inability to allow himself to be belittled or shamed is wonderful. There are so many things about him that Tasha wishes she could be. When she’s with him, she is more open, more vulnerable and more honest. As mortifying as it feels, it is also freeing. Data may inadvertently trample over her feelings or probe at painful emotional spots but will never hurt her knowingly.

_So, why not give him a chance?_

Tasha sighs.

It’s a moot point, anyway. She’s already warned him off. Data isn’t very good at subtext, but he seems to have gotten the message because he hasn’t repeated his advances, either. _Not totally fair, Tasha. You’ve been kidnapped most of that time._ She turns over and punches the pillow, trying to find a comfortable position. After a few minutes of tossing and turning and trying not to think of Data - _For god’s sake what is wrong with me? –_ Tasha gives up on sleep. Instead, she meditates until her guards come to bring her to the banquet.

 She is seated next to Lutan and she can feel the weight of his eyes on her, his regard clear. It is flattering, in a way. He is a king and extremely handsome. There’s a singlemindedness in him that Tasha likes, but the wide streak of ruthlessness far outweighs anything admirable. Tasha has seen men like him before, men more interested in power than in caring for the people around them. Only a fool believes that ruthlessness will not turn on them in the end.

Tasha is anything but that kind of fool. So, she declines to eat, and instead keeps an eye on Lutan. He’s clearly up to something and Tasha is hardly surprised when at the end of the banquet, instead of returning her to the _Enterprise_ as he’d promised, Lutan declares his intention to marry her and make her queen. Yareena quite justly opposes her deposition and challenges Tasha to a fight to the death. It’s ridiculous because of course she isn’t going to marry Lutan but before she can respond, the Captain objects and Lutan abruptly calls an end to their negotiations. He declares that he won’t part with the vaccine or with her.

It's quite a political mess, and one Tasha fervently wishes she had no part in it. She retreats to her sumptuous prison without a struggle, not wanting to exacerbate the tense situation. Still, she’s grateful that the Captain and Councilor Troi are allowed to enter her rooms a few minutes later.

“Did you have any idea, Lieutenant, that Lutan was suddenly going to announce that he wanted you for his First One?”

Tasha furrows her brow. Surely the Captain doesn’t think she has some role in this? “No, sir,” she answers back, stung.

Picard softens his voice, “Tell me what you know about this.”

“Nothing, sir.”

“But it was a thrill,” Troi interrupts. “Lutan is such a basic male image and having him say he wants you…”

“Well yes, of course it made me feel good when he…” Tasha stops, realizes what she’s admitting to and in front of the Captain, no less. “Troi, you tricked me!”

Troi ignores her and turns to the Captain. “Only so you’d think about it, completely and clearly.”

The Captain takes a beat to realizes what Troi is getting at. He’s come into the situation accusing when they should be working together to solve the problem. “We’re all being manipulated, Lieutenant. Myself most of all,” he says apologetically to Tasha. She accepts the apology with a nod and they get down to planning. The first step is to contact the ship to find out how much leeway they have in getting the vaccine to Styris IV.

“Not much,” Riker says over the comm. “The infection rate is increasing. Doctor Crusher estimates twelve to twenty hours before catastrophic casualties.”

Riker signs off and the three of them begin kicking around ideas. There aren’t many good ones; the Prime Directive prohibits them from just taking the vaccine, and there doesn’t seem to be any way of changing Lutan’s mind.

“Why don’t I just fight her?” Tasha puts in. The Captain and Troi both look at her with varying degrees of puzzlement. “I won’t kill her, of course. But it seems like the fastest way to conclude the challenge.”

“That’s…not actually a bad idea,” Troi says slowly.

“Councilor, surely you don’t agree with this?”

“The plague,” she reminds Picard.

“Yes. If anything, worse then we’d heard,” he admits.

“Which means they desperately need the vaccine, sir. And I know I can win the challenge.”

“You have nothing to prove, Lieutenant,” he reminds her and Tasha smiles at him gratefully. He and Troi bicker back and forth for a few minutes before Picard brings the discussion to an end.

“I want some explanation from Lutan,” he says. The guards agree to take him to their leader, leaving she and Troi alone for the time being.

“Don’t think I’ve forgiven you for embarrassing me in front of the Captain,” Tasha tells Troi tartly. There is a plate of various breads, cheeses and meats set out on the table in front of her. Tasha feels her stomach rumble, but she pushes the plate away stubbornly. She knows the Ligonian code of honor means that the food provided to prisoners will be safe, but she still doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction of too much compliance.

“Embarrassment builds character,” Troi says cheerfully. She leans across the table and takes a slice of bread.

“I cannot even imagine what your home life must have been like,” Tasha says, watching Deanna pile cheese and meat onto the bread to form an open-faced sandwich.

“My mother is a terror,” she confirms, taking a bite and sighing in bliss. Tasha’s mouth waters and she admits to herself that starving isn’t really doing anything to spite her captors. She reaches for the plate and constructs a small sandwich of her own. Halfway through eating it, Tasha realizes that Troi had already eaten at the banquet and was probably only eating to get Tasha to eat.

She narrows her eyes at Troi, who gives her a beautific smile and asks, “Talked to Data yet?”

Tasha laughs. “You really are shameless!”

“I only want what is best for you, dear,” Deanna responds in a voice that is clearly an impression of someone else. Probably her terror of a mother. “But in all seriousness,” Deanna continues in her own tones. “I can sense your agitation. It seems more to do with him than with the current situation.”

Tasha shrugs. “We talked. He…kind of asked me out.” Deanna doesn’t look surprised, something Tasha files away for later. “I didn’t really give him an answer because I was too busy trying to talk him out of it. Which I now realize is pretty telling. So…yeah,” she says with a sigh. “I screwed it all up.”

Deanna seems on the verge of saying something when the Captain comes back.

“I’ve spoken to Lutan. He’d not going to intervene. You were correct, Lieutenant,” he turns to Yar. “This is more than the romantic gesture Lutan claims. If you kill Yareena, he will inherit all her land and wealth.”

“But if I best her in combat and don’t kill her…” Yar grins.

“Then, we beat him at his own game, yes,” the Captain concludes her thought. “I’ll send Lieutenant LaForge and Lieutenant Commander Data down to take a look at the weapons and the fighting arena. We will give you every advantage we can,” Picard promises.

“Thank you, sir,” Tasha replies. “In the meantime, I’ll try to talk to Yareena. Maybe I can get her to withdraw the challenge.”

An hour later, they meet back up in the rooms set aside for Picard in the palace. Troi, LaForge and Data are already there. It is the first time she’s seen Data since their conversation yesterday and she feels a little jolt at the base of her spine, which she resolutely ignores. Instead, she turns to the Captain and reports, “Yareena won’t budge, sir. She loves him, without reservation, and she thinks I love him, too.”

“Most interesting,” Data says. “Do you?”

“Of course I don’t, Data!” Tasha is surprised into meeting his eyes. “As Troi pointed out to me I’m attracted to him that that is entirely different.”

Riker comms in and the meeting goes on. The weapons are poisoned, but Doctor Crusher is already working on an antidote. If Yareena wins, they can use Tasha’s “death” as a bargaining chip. If Tasha wins, they counteract the poison and save Yareena’s life. Either way, Lutan isn’t getting what he wants. Tasha loves the plan, especially the part where Lutan is humiliated. Still, she is disquieted by the idea that Data could believe that she is actually in love with Lutan. As the meeting breaks up, she hooks two fingers around his wrist and pulls him in tells him, “When this is all over, we’re going to have to talk about that question you asked about me and Lutan.”

Things move quickly after that. By evening, she and Yareena meet in the centreplace, an open-air plaza with a raised fighting platform in the center. She meets Lutan’s eyes and he smiles at her, still trying to charm her. She narrows her eyes back and his smile turns a little colder. Tasha and Yareena both step up to the platform and don their weapons, a heavy metal glove shaped like a mace with deadly poisoned spines.

 Lutan lets his second-in-command do the talking, clearly relishing his power over all of them. Tasha tunes it out, takes a deep breath and lets her anger and anxiety float away. This, she understands – the physical and mental clash of weapon against weapon. She flows into the fight with ease. Yareena has some training in martial arts, but she is not an expert like Tasha and it is clear from the outset that she is going to lose. Tasha stays out of reach of Yareena’s weapon and lets her tire herself out a bit. She doesn’t want to humiliate the woman, despite her accusations about being in love with Lutan. She lets the fight play out a bit, dodging the queen’s attempts at cornering her. Yareena doesn’t seem to appreciate her restraint, throwing herself into the fight with even more ferocity. Soon, Tasha is forced to touch her with her weapon and Yareena drops almost immediately, the poison already causing convulsions.

Tasha drops her weapon and feels the transporter overtake her. When she materializes, she’s kneeling next to Yareena in Sickbay. “We’re too late. She’s growing cold!” Tasha cries. The calm that overtook her during the fight recedes a little and Tasha feels a stab of panic at the thought that she might have murdered the woman. Crusher pushes Tasha aside and injects Yareena with something. There is a long moment where nothing happens and then Yareena’s spine bows as she gasps in a deep breath.

“See?” The Doctor says, “Nothing to worry about. Come on,” she waves Tasha to her feet and they lift Yareena onto a biobed. Doctor Crusher begins to attend to the woman as Tasha lingers nearby, unsure of what to do. The stab of panic from earlier has gone, leaving a yawning emptiness in its wake. She can’t think of what she should be doing and so she stays and watches Yareena wake up.  

“How are you, Lieutenant?”

Tasha starts at Crusher’s voice. The other woman is at her side, brow furrowed in concern.

“I’m not injured,” Tasha assures her.

“Uh-huh. Why don’t I be the judge of that?” She directs Tasha to the bed next to Yareena’s and runs a bio scanner over her. “You seem all right,” Crusher begrudgingly agrees. Yareena sits up slowly and Crusher rushes to her side to assist her. Yareena waves her off and turns to Tasha.

“You saved my life,” she says. “You will have your vaccine; this I promise you.”

Tasha nods. She knows she should say something but she can’t think what. She runs a hand through her hair and notices Crusher casting her a worried look, but before she can say anything the three of them are summoned to the observation lounge for the final act of their political drama. Lutan blusters about their trickery, but he cannot get around the fact that, for a few seconds at least, Yareena was dead. Even better, Yareena points out that with her death, their marriage is dissolved and chooses Lutan’s second, Hagon, as the new king.

“So sad for you. You’ve lost everything,” Tasha says quietly to Lutan. She cannot muster up any real venom in her voice. It _is_ sad. Lutan’s ambition outstripped his compassion, and it has cost him the power he craved. She hopes he can learn to be a better man, but she knows he probably will not. Yareena must overhear Tasha’s remark, for she says, “Do you want him?”

Tasha feels her eyes slide across the room to land on Data. “Ah, no. There would be complications.”

The rest of the negotiations go on, but Crusher takes her and Data aside. “Data, could you please accompany Lieutenant Yar to her quarters and make sure she eats and sleeps.” Tasha opens her mouth to argue but Crusher holds up a staying hand. “That’s an order, Lieutenant.”

Tasha shuts her mouth, frowns at both of them, but relents. She follows Data out of the lounge.

“I don’t see why she had to rope you into this,” she mutters as they make their way to the turbolift.

“Likely because Doctor Crusher knows you would not heed her otherwise.”

Tasha harrumphs on principle but must concede that he’s probably right. Tasha fidgets in the lift, nearly flattening an ensign in her rush to disembark on her deck. Data catches up to her easily and they enter her quarters together. She strips off her boots at the door and sinks down on the couch.

“Lieutenant, you said you wished to speak to me concerning the question I asked you down on the planet.”  Data is standing near the door, looking around her quarters as if he’s never seen them before. She waves him to the seat across from her and watches as he takes it.

“That remark about me being in love with Lutan. Data, surely you didn’t think that was possible, right?”

“Interesting. Why do you believe it to be impossible?” he asks in an oh-so-reasonable tone.

“Because I had literally just met him?”

“Humans can sometimes fall in love very quickly.”

Tasha waves a hand at him and leans back into the cushions. “Maybe,” she concedes. It’s not worth fighting about, suddenly.

She hears the rustle of fabric as Data moves across the room. She has no idea what he’s doing and she doesn’t want to open her eyes to look. Nevertheless, she slits her eyes open when Data sets something down in front of her. A plate of wheat toast and a cup of Oolong tea.

“Doctor Crusher instructed me to ensure that you ate,” he says, taking the seat opposite her again. Tasha sits up, wraps her hands around the mug.

“Yareena through the same thing,” Tasha says, picking up the conversational thread of earlier. “That I would fall in love with him. She seems to really care for him. I feel a bit sorry for her, to be honest. It must be terrible to be betrayed like that by someone you love.” She has no idea if Data answers, instead pushes on, “He wasn’t a good man. Not like – “

Data leans forward and plucks the mug from her hand. It is only when he sets it down that she notices that her hands are badly shaking and there are tears coursing down her cheeks.

“Oh no,” she whispers faintly. And then a black cloud of terror rolls over her, dragging her under. There is a horrible moment where all that Tasha can think is, _I’m going to die._ She can feel her heart trying to pound its way out of her chest. Every muscle is tense as if bracing for impact. Cold sweat pours over her. She cannot breathe. _Oh god, I’m going to die._

In the next moment, a sliver of rational thought cuts through and she thinks, _I’m having a panic attack._

She has no memory of lying on the floor, but she can feel the rough carpet against her cheek. Terror-soaked nausea grips her but Tasha hangs on to that thought – _I’m having a panic attack, that’s all. I’ve done this before._ She focuses on trying to calm her heaving lungs. In. Out. In. Out.

She doesn’t know how long it takes, but eventually she is able to slow her gasping breath into something more normal. She still feels sick and nauseated, and so she doesn’t move but she does crack her eyes open enough to notice that Data is still there, sitting on the floor beside her. To his credit, he hasn’t touched her. This was always a sticking point with past lovers. Most of them had been very understanding and accepting of her panic attacks, up until the point where she lashed out in terror when they touched her during one. Or worse, dissolved into tears over it. She’s grateful that Data has heeded the warnings she’d made sure were included in the briefing.

Tasha closes her eyes again and gathers her strength. Getting upright is always the tricky part. If she does it too soon, she’ll throw up. Too late and she’ll end up asleep on the hard floor.

“Data,” she whispers.

“Yes, Tasha,” he answers readily in the same low tone.

“Can you help me sit up?”

She feels one hand insert itself between her left arm and the floor, while the other curls around her right forearm. “Slowly,” she moans, fighting a dizzying wave of vertigo as he pulls her upright by slow degrees. When he’s got her upright and balanced against the couch he drops his hands from her. Even with her eyes closed, Tasha can tell he is still there, though. She leans against the couch and breaths until she’s sure she isn’t going to vomit, then opens her eyes slowly.

Her quarters are darkened. Data must have lowered the lights. Tasha smiles wryly into the gloom. “Thanks,” she says.

“You need not thank me. I told you I would care for you, did I not?”

Tasha feels her smile widen. “Yeah, but that was before you knew what it was like.”

“Tasha, I do not understand why you insist on believing that I do not know about your panic attacks, despite my protestations to the contrary.”

Tasha leans forward carefully, and reaches out. Her hands collides with his leg and she feels her way along until she cups his knee, her thumb moving back and forth against the cool fabric of his trousers. “There’s a difference between knowing and _knowing,”_ she says.

It is too dark for her to see him cock his head to the side, but she knows he does it all the same. “Interesting,” he says. “I fail to see the distinction.”

Tasha smiles again and squeezes his knee. “I know you don’t,” she says and withdraws her hand. “I was full of shit, anyway. Just deflecting. Will you help me stand? I really don’t want to fall asleep on the floor.”

He obliges, lifting her to her feet with startling ease. She makes him wait a few seconds, but the wave of nausea doesn’t come and she allows him to loops an arm around her. They shuffle together into her bedroom. He allows her to sink down onto the bed and kneels in front of her. “Where do you keep your sleeping clothes?” he asks. Tasha directs him to the correct drawer. He pulls out one of the long, comfortable smocks she likes to wear to bed and sets in next to her.

“Do you need assistance in undressing?” he asks and Tasha doesn’t have the energy to feel embarrassed.

“Help me get out of the bottoms,” she says and unzips the top of her uniform, shuffling it off her shoulders and laying back on the bed. Data obediently helps her wrestle the rest of her uniform over the hips and down her legs. He recycles it through the wall unit in the bathroom as she gets into her pajamas and under the covers. She expects him to leave, but after a moment she peeks to see him standing in the doorway between the bathroom and the bedroom. “Data, what are you doing?”

“Doctor Crusher instructed me to ensure you sleep,” he says. She opens her mouth to challenge him because even Data cannot be that literal for god’s sake, when she realizes that this just might be Data’s way of caring for her. A warm feeling grips her chest, a smile painting itself across her face.

“Got it,” she says and gives up completely on trying to deny that she really _really_ wants to date Data. “If you’re going to stay, at least sit down.”

Tasha pats the comforter next to her and Data gingerly sits on the side of the bed furthest from her, stretching his legs out in front of him and reclining stiffly against the headboard. Tasha huffs a laugh and says, “You can use the PADD if you’d like.”

“Thank you, Tasha.” He reaches out to scoop up the device from her bedside table but does not switch it on. Instead, she can see him watching her in the ambient light, head cocked to the side curiously.

“Data,” she mumbles, not moving from the comfortable position she’s found. “Out with it.”

“I do wish to ask you a question,” Data affirms, “But do not wish to keep you from sleep.”

“It’s okay. Ask me.”

“Will you please expand upon your feelings regarding our conversation of yesterday morning? You characterized it as a deflection.”

“I also said it was bullshit,” Tasha cuts in.

“What did you mean by this?” Data asks.

“That I was trying to scare you off because I didn’t know how to answer you,” Tasha wiggles her way across the bed until she can reach out and take the hand that isn’t holding the PADD. “I like you. A lot more than I wanted to admit. I felt vulnerable and I tried to give you a reason to…take it back. Change your mind.”

“Ah,” Data says. “I have not changed my mind, Tasha.”

“Well that’s good, because I’d like to date you,” she says and squeezes his hand in hers.

“Very well,” Data says seriously. “We shall discuss the logistics of our date at a later time, however. Please sleep, Tasha.”

Tasha mumbles something affirmative into her pillow. She feels his fingers gripping hers, cool and soothing as she falls into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next story in the series will feature the Dreadful First Date and some Riker/Tasha friendship. Please leave kudos, comments and subscribe.

**Author's Note:**

> This story's title comes from one of the names given to the physical symptoms of PTSD that emerged after the American Civil War. I have thought a lot about how panic disorders might be destigmatised and treated in the future. I have also added my own panic and anxiety experiences. Like many people recovering from abuse, Tasha's thoughts and beliefs about herself are not always objectively true, but I hope they resonate and feel true to the character.


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